


Nothing Golden Can Stay

by SkySamuelle



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkySamuelle/pseuds/SkySamuelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He won't ever admit it, but sometimes he dreams of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Golden Can Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Title cites a famous Robert Frost poem. Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. Prompt: Cold Shower.

He won't ever admit it, but sometimes he dreams of _her._

Not of Elena, so familiar and yet so distant, so comforting and yet a source of bittersweet longing.

Not of Katherine, a taint so deep he sometimes thinks he will never be completely free of it, the beautiful poison that has fed all that was wrong in him, his first love and his deepest hatred, his maker in every sense he can possibly give to this word.

They are occasional guests of his dream world too, of course, but the dreams of her are always different from anything else somehow: they are eerie and full of soft noises and poignant scents, of shadows that hide her away for the longest before she is given back to him.

In his dreams the witch is surrounded by spring blossoms or summer fruits, but nothing registers in his brain except the touch of her hands, the green hue of her eyes as she rides him hard, dark hair wild on her shoulders, her beautiful breasts bouncing with the gyrating movement of her hips. Above him, Bonnie is proud and effortlessly sensual, all welcoming smiles and murmured promises of an upcoming, magnificent release.

Her touch cleanses him, brands him, reminds him that he belongs somewhere, to somebody. To her only. When he is inside her the worlds melt in a sweet slow-burning pyre, and he is burning inside too, but he is not afraid because he feels then that he is not alone.

And when Damon awakens among sweat-dampened sheets, dick hard and throbbing and aching with _want_ , he has no words, just a feeling of loss mingled with impatience and solitude.

Sometimes he finishes himself off with stiff, angry strokes, reaching blindly for quick and painful orgasm, eyes clenched shut and jaw rigid as he summons the clearest image of a judgmental, jaded girl with thick lashed eyes and full lips. Those are the times he will feel dirty as soon he has reached the goal, the physical release disappointingly shallow in comparison to the fading memory of the all-consuming pleasure that spread through his veins during the sleep.

The other times - most of the times, really- Damon will just get up with a groan and stalk off to take a long, cold shower that only his immortal body might tolerate, until the mirage behind his eyelids is erased and there's nothing, nothing to question.


End file.
